


The Practice

by LadyZenith



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:45:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyZenith/pseuds/LadyZenith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loved her, and watching her as she practiced against Fenris was only making him love her more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Practice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever, and also the first time I write something in english. I hope you all like it!

She was looking particularly beautiful that day.

Her hair was a mess, as usual. What was supposed to be a braid was now looking loose and dirty from her sweat, in contrast to the usual shine on her dark curls. Her bronzed skin looked radiant under the sunlight of Lowtown, making the perspiration and dust on her body an accessory that looked perfect on her. Her light blue eyes, puffy from the lack of sleep, were shining from excitement, and her movements were so graceful that they made him jealous.

Her daggers danced in the air and she was a gazelle. Fenris’ greatsword was uselessly trying to catch her, as her moves were quick, refined and incredibly precise.

That came as no surprise, as Hawke had always been the most skilled at fighting of them all. Most of her enemies never knew what happened to them; she was so fast at attacking, that sometimes, they were dead before the rest of her companions even noticed they were there.

That made his own job quite important. Her speed meant she lacked constitution, so one slip, one small miscalculation, was enough for her to suffer a potentially lethal wound. Her clothes didn’t offer much protection either.

“If it was up to me, I’d go naked”, she usually said, with that provocative smirk that drove him crazy.

“And then what? Arouse them to death?”

No matter what his answer was, she would laugh and kiss him on the cheek. Then he would take off the arm he had around her shoulders, gently squeeze her hand, and ask her to please not to get killed out there, because his healing magic could only do so much. The teasing smirk on her face afterwards was worth everything.

Hawke was aware that Fenris, as mighty as he was as a warrior, didn’t stand a chance against her, and that obviously made her happy. Focused as she was, she probably was not conscious of the huge smile drawn on her face; she was enjoying that practice like there was nothing else in the whole world. Her existence in that moment was reduced to nothing more but her body, her daggers, her skills, and the greatsword that Fenris tried so hard to aim against her. 

“If he catches her, that’s gonna be a nasty wound”, he thought. Fenris’ greatsword was probably bigger than Hawke’s whole body, but from what he could see from his position, she had nothing but a small scratch on her left forearm.

That was way better than most of the injuries he had had to heal on her: everything from gashes to burns, once a broken leg and three times what he considered to be a more serious stab, whether it was for its location or its depth.

But, most of the times, it was only wounds that threatened to leave a scar. She was vain like that.

He recalled all the times she came to his clinic to ask him to heal those for her. Her tight clothes and her amazing curves used to make quite an impression down there in Darktown, always taking the attention off the blood she was covered in; but as her fame grew, people started to stare less and fear more. Wise decision in his opinion, as the blood that covered her was usually not hers.

She would then stay there and they would talk. Endless hours spent at his clinic, turning it into a safe place for them both; away from the infinite worries they had outside those four walls. There, they could be completely free, and she could mindlessly play with his fingers and he could place his arm around her shoulders and she could lean her head on his chest and he could take her hair out of her face to admire her breathtaking beauty. No consequences. No curious pairs of eyes watching, no poisonous tongues talking, nothing that would put their lives in more danger than they already were.

She was a goddess, sent to him by the Maker himself to make him lose his mind. 

A sudden laugh took him out of his thoughts. She was giggling -a sound that came off adorably with her musical high-pitched voice, almost like a little girl. Hawke was on Fenris’ back, grabbed to his torso with her legs, and both her daggers were under his neck, one from each side. She made the gesture of dramatically cutting his throat, and then jumped back on her feet as Fenris growled.

But she landed just at his side, and in that moment, Fenris turned on his feet, facing her. They were both caught off guard, surprised by the sudden proximity. She wasn’t smiling anymore. They stared at eachother’s eyes deeply, motionless, separated by only a few inches, and as their gazes went down to stop at their lips, she bit the corner of her mouth.

The moment was so intimate that they both felt uncomfortable. A few seconds later –desperately long seconds- both of them looked down at the ground ashamed, and walked back a few steps in order to position themselves in front of each other again, ready for another round.

He looked down at the ground as well. He sighed, took a quick glance at them for the last time, and turned back. His spot in the shadows had kept him hidden in that alley, and none of them noticed they were being watched from the distance. He heard the noise of her daggers and his greatsword cutting the air as he walked away, knowing that all the playing with his fingers and all the arms around her shoulders and all the heads leaned on his chest and all the hair taken out of her face, ended up meaning nothing.

Fenris still had her red scarf tied tightly around his wrist.


End file.
